


Right Where We Left It

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Background Claire Novak, Florist Dean Winchester, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Returning Home, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Flower emergencies didn’t hold off just because the love of your life was the only available florist in town.(In the wake of Mary's death, Dean comes back to establish his flower shop.  Cas avoids him - until he can't.)





	Right Where We Left It

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic for Tropefest! Thanks for all your support from the last one. Now go read this!

The thing about flower emergencies was that they happened at the most inconvenient times.

“And yes, Mrs. Robertson, I know. Again, on behalf of my family, I apologize. I assure you that I will pass on the message. Yes. Yes. Is that so? The birdfeeder? I’m sorry about that as well. We’ll replace it. Okay. Goodbye.” Cas ended the call with Mrs. Robertson nursing a migraine he hadn’t had when he’d answered the call. He felt like his brain was being squeezed by a particularly well-made, particularly vindictive vice grip, and he knew from experience that the pounding pain would not go away until well past his bedtime.

Still, he took two painkillers in the hopes it would stave off the worst of the migraine, then dialed another number. He was surprised when the call led to a recording.

“Hi, you’ve reached Garth’s Floral Poetry. Unfortunately the shop is closed at the moment; I’m on my honeymoon! I’ll be back in two weeks. Until then, as they say in Japan, sayounara!”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose as he ended the call. He had forgotten that Garth had just gotten married. He’d received an invitation (after all, he had probably funded the whole reception with the total sum of his flower purchases), but had had to cancel at the last minute because of… well. The reason he needed another flower arrangement.

He leaned back against his office chair wearily, tapping his phone against his mouth. He hated to have to go to another flower shop; Garth was chatty, but he had the decency not to talk about Cas - and his reasons for buying so many flower arrangements - with other customers. Beyond that, however, was the fact that Cas’s only other option was not only highly inconvenient, but also would probably bring up some painful memories - memories that were still fresh despite many years having passed.

But wide-eyed nostalgia pulled at Cas’s resolve. It had been months since Cas had seen Dean - and even then, it had been under the worst of circumstances - and to see Dean happy and content in the flower shop he had always dreamed of owning might ease some of Cas’s latent guilt surrounding the last time he’d seen Dean.

Decided, Cas pocketed his phone and stood up, grabbing the jacket he’d draped across his chair. He was about to leave when the bottle of painkillers caught his eye. He pocketed that too, just in case.

 

Mary's Garden was a relatively new flower shop, having only been established only six months before by Mary’s son Dean. Mary Winchester had been a beloved local figure and had been mourned by the whole population of the town on the occasion of her death, so when Dean had come home to set up shop in gratitude to the town that had taken care of Mary when he could not, it seemed that everybody had visited both to console him for his mother’s death and to congratulate him on fulfilling his dream of opening up a flower shop.

Everybody, that was, but Cas. He’d gotten a subdued phone call from Sam when Mary had passed away, telling him that the family - it was really only Sam and Dean by then - would appreciate his presence at the funeral. And while Cas had gone - he’d caught Dean’s red-rimmed eyes from across Mary’s casket and immediately ducked his gaze - he’d left before either Winchester could speak to him, and he’d done well to avoid Mary's Garden since it had opened, four months after the service. To this day, almost a year after the funeral, Cas still felt sick with guilt about leaving without a word.

It was the memory of Dean, dressed in a black suit, pulling a teary Sam into a hug that Cas was trying to scrub from his head as he pulled open the door to Mary's Garden. On the way to the shop, he’d vaguely hoped that Dean would have hired someone by this time, someone who might have taken on Dean’s role behind the counter, just so Cas could put this reunion off once more, but those hopes were dashed on the rocks when he met the startled green eyes of Dean Winchester over the shop register.

Cas ducked his gaze and walked up to the counter. In his periphery he saw bright displays and large, colorful signs, maybe even a hint of Dean’s metal and wood, but he kept his eyes on the three feet in front of him until he reached the counter. 

When Cas met Dean’s eyes, they were wide. They weren’t narrowed in anger or fury or disgust like Cas had feared they would be. They were wide and green and so, so achingly familiar. “Cas,” he said. He cleared his throat. “What- what are you doing here?”

It hurt that Dean’s first reaction was shock that Cas would visit rather than pleasure at seeing an old friend, but Cas figured he deserved it. If Cas hadn’t come by when Mary had passed away, why would be come now? He tucked away the hurt. “Hello, Dean. I, uh - I need flowers,” he said, digging his nails into his palms. 

“Flowers,” Dean repeated. Cas watched his throat bob helplessly. Dean stared for a few moments, his eyes dancing between Cas’s, but when Cas fidgeted under his gaze, he looked away hurriedly. He motioned around him, where a number of refrigerated display cases stored buckets of flower stems. “You’ve come to the right place,” Dean said. His smile seemed forced, but Cas took it, grateful that Dean was at least trying to be kind. “What exactly do you need?” 

“I need some flowers delivered.”

Dean pulled out a portfolio from underneath the counter. “Right,” he said. “Take a look. They’re organized by category.” The first page he flipped to were pictures of bouquets of red roses. “Take your pick.” Dean’s tone had gone a little harder around the edges.

Cas shook his head, brow furrowed. The bouquets were beautiful, but they were also not what Cas needed. “I need - I just need a simple basket arrangement that communicates a polite but sincere apology.”

Dean’s eyes were skeptical. “A romantic apology?” he asked.

Dean’s tone was making Cas anxious. He licked his lips. “More like a ‘sorry-about-your-car-and-future-therapy-bill’ apology.”

When he looked up again, he noticed that Dean’s eyebrows had risen. Dean’s lips twitched upward. “Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Let me just look that up in the ‘sorry-about-your-car-and-future-therapy-bill’ section here.” Then he laughed, and it was good-natured, and Cas felt the nervous tension leave him. “What’s your budget?” Dean continued. “I’ll throw something together really quick and we can start the ‘sorry-about-your-car-and-future-therapy-bill’ section for future customers.”

Dean was still smirking about his joke, and Cas couldn’t help the smile growing on his face too. He threw out a budget, just to distract Dean from the flush crawling up his neck. He watched the way Dean mumbled to himself and stared up at the ceiling as he made calculations, and the surge of affection he felt toward Dean was something Cas should have expected. Dean was always going to be Cas’s weakness, even so many years after parting. 

“I can work with that budget,” Dean said finally. He pushed a pad of paper and a pen to Cas. “Delivery date and address, please. It’ll be nice and thoughtful for whoever you traumatized.” 

“It’s for my neighbor,” Cas said. “And I wasn’t the one doing the traumatizing.”

Dean’s smirk was back. “If you say so.”

Dean’s playfulness was intoxicating. It made Cas believe that Dean had parted ways with Cas as a friend, rather than as an abandoned lover. He bit down a sigh and bent to his work. The next question came unbidden from his mouth as he wrote down the name and address for delivery: “Will - will you be doing the delivery?” He sounded way too invested in the answer. Dean must have noticed too, because he was silent for a long time.

Cas looked up, nervous that he’d crossed a line. He caught Dean with raised eyebrows and parted lips. “No,” Dean said, looking away at once, rearranging the pens in the mug by the register. “Business blew up a few months ago - got a guy on call to do the door-to-door stuff.”

Cas nodded, handing Dean the paper and pen. “I’m glad business is doing well.”

Dean shrugged as he looked at what Cas wrote. “All thanks to guys like you who send ‘sorry-about-your-car-and-future-therapy-bill’ flowers to - Mrs. Robertson? The pastor’s wife? With the bob? Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not,” Cas said. He offered Dean a small smile. Dean stared at him for a second, then turned to the register, his eyes downturned. Cas felt his smile fall at Dean’s sudden change in mood.

“Let me ring you up.” Dean’s voice was soft. He took the credit card Cas handed him. Cas’s gaze slid to Dean’s left hand. There was no ring, despite the rumors he’d gotten engaged to a woman named Lisa in Boston. Despite himself, Cas felt relieved. He allowed himself a few seconds’ indulgence in the fantasy world in which Dean still wanted him. He imagined that that fantasy world was this one, and that Dean would turn to him at any second and run a hand through his hair and curve it around his jaw and lean in and kiss him tenderly. 

In that fantasy world, Dean was miserable and starving for Cas’s attention, but the reality was that Dean looked good - really good. Healthy. Fulfilled. It was obvious that Cas’s unexpected appearance had thrown him for a loop, but it was also clear that life was treating him well even without Cas in it. His cheeks were full of color, his posture was sure, his shoulders were broad, and the apron tied neatly around his torso hugged a trim waistline. He was fine. Healthy. Happy. Who was Cas to demand back what he’d willingly given up? 

Dean handed him a receipt. “It was nice to see you, Cas,” he said, and Cas could almost believe it was sincere. Dean was offering him a close-lipped smile. It wasn’t a grin, and the smile didn’t quite reach Dean’s eyes, but Cas took it all the same.

“I hope you’re doing well,” Cas said.

Dean rubbed his chin. “Yeah, man,” he said. “It’s exhausting owning a business, but it’s - I mean, _you_ know. It’s been my dream for ages.”

“I do know.” Cas smiled. “You look happy.”

Dean blinked. “I - yeah, I am happy.” 

Cas didn’t know how, but he knew Dean was being truthful. His heart hurt with how full it was for Dean. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Dean murmured. His eyes were soft, and though his smile was perfunctory at best, Cas saw the depth of gratitude etched in the lines around Dean’s eyes. The lines hadn’t been there the last time Cas had pressed his lips to the area, many years ago. He longed for another opportunity to do it again (and again and again, ad nauseum), but Dean had learned to be happy without him. Cas would have to learn how to do the same.

 

Flower emergencies didn’t hold off just because the love of your life was the only available florist in town. Cas dragged himself to Mary's Garden a few days after his first order, heaving a huge sigh before opening the door.

Dean looked up from where he was cutting a tulip stem. When he saw who it was, he put the shears down and approached, confusion pulling his mouth into a frown. “Hey. Was there a problem with the order?”

“No, no,” Cas said, scratching the back of his neck. “At least, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen Mrs. Robertson since, thank goodness. I just - “ He sighed. “I need another arrangement.”

Dean’s expression relaxed. “That I can do.” He motioned for Cas to follow him, and they walked to the register. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s a birthday.”

At that, Dean slid an unreadable look at Cas. “Oh? Whose?” He handed the portfolio to Cas.

“My lawyer’s.”

Dean laughed. Cas didn’t. He opened the portfolio sullenly. When Dean saw Cas’s expression, he bit back his laughter. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Cas didn’t answer; he just gave Dean a tired look.

Dean smiled, affectionate. “Do I wanna know, Cas?”

The softness of Dean’s gaze was drawing a blush to the surface of Cas’s skin. “Probably not,” Cas said, biting back a smile. He wanted to touch his fingers to Dean’s freckles. There were more of them than he remembered.

They bent over the portfolio from opposite sides of the counter. Dean’s arms were partly covered by his grey henley, but Cas remembered what it felt like to run his hands over the dips of Dean’s biceps and had to curl his fingers into his palms to quell the longing. 

“Y’know,” Dean said, as he flipped a page idly, “Sammy’s a lawyer now.”

Cas smiled. “I heard. I’m glad he’s doing well.” He pushed Dean’s hand away so he could do the flipping himself. “I miss him,” he added.

Dean was silent for a long time. Cas was looking down at the portfolio and couldn’t see Dean’s expression, but he could guess what it might have looked like when Dean said, so softly it hurt, “He misses you too.”

Cas knew where this conversation would logically end, but he refused to say it out loud, not when he’d just gotten Dean back in his life. In his head, however, he found the words easily because they were right where he’d left them in his head: next to all the rest of the words that plagued him before sleep. _I miss you._

Eventually the silence became stifling, so Cas replaced the three words he really wanted to say with “I kept tabs on you in Boston.”

Dean’s face was pink when Cas chanced a look up from the portfolio in front of him. “You, uh - you did? What’d you hear exactly?”

“You did a lot of volunteer work,” Cas said, smiling. “Soup kitchens. Veteran services. Disaster relief. Among other things, I assume.” He didn’t mention that he knew why Dean was nervous. He didn’t mention that he knew the things that Dean had gotten involved with during the first few months away from home - things that had made Cas so anxious he’d had to take a leave of absence from work to deal with the stress. He didn’t mention those things because in the grand scheme of things, they weren’t important - Dean was safe and healthy now. Happy. “You made Mary very proud.” 

Dean’s face went through a myriad of emotions - sorrow first, then bashfulness, then a mask of indifference. “I tried to make a difference,” he said. “I hope I did.”

Cas wanted to touch his fingers to Dean’s downturned lips. He just flipped a page of the portfolio as he said, “You did.” The next thing Cas said he didn’t expect to say: “I heard you got engaged.”

A long, horrible silence sat between them. Dean’s face was conflicted, but it wasn’t hurt. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh. Lisa. Had a kid - Ben. Good kid. She was - she was good too. When Mom died, she told me she’d come with me, but - “ He took a slow breath here, gathering his thoughts. “But I couldn’t keep leading her on. I wanted to marry her for all the wrong reasons, and when Mom died, I… I realized I needed to live my life like she did hers: with no regrets. So I broke it off with Lisa, and I - here I am. Clean slate.” 

Dean’s smile was brittle. Cas had no words. He’d been so close to losing Dean forever, and it had only been Mary’s death that had prevented it. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but Dean waved his words away with a frown.

A silence descended around them. Finally Cas found a picture of a small, bright bouquet that Eileen would like for its colors.

“This one,” he said quietly, hoping his sad, sentimental thoughts weren’t showing on his face.

Dean slid the pad of paper and pen toward him again. Cas took it, chancing a small smile, feeling gratified when Dean did the same.

Later, when Dean saw the name Cas had scribbled, he raised an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t want to add a few red roses into the arrangement?” Dean’s voice seemed detached now.

Cas was confused. “Why would I - oh.” He blushed. “No roses. My relationship with Eileen is purely professional.”

“You’re sending her flowers for her birthday,” Dean pointed out. He was pressing his lips together in a way that Cas knew meant Dean was hurt but trying not to show it. Cas was too busy marveling over the concept that Dean might be jealous that he forgot to respond for a few moments.

By the time he caught up, Dean was ringing him up at the register and had such a stormy expression on his face Cas didn’t dare say a word.

 

Cas had driven home turning over Dean’s behavior in his head. It hadn’t even occurred to Cas that Dean might welcome him back into his life, and then to see Dean’s jealous reaction to the possibility of Cas sending flowers to somebody else - it had been jarring in the best way possible. He’d felt giddy, and as soon as he’d found a spare half hour, he’d dialed his brother. His niece, visiting from out-of-state, had overheard him talking it over with her dad over the phone and had rolled her eyes. “Geez, just ask him out - what are you, seventeen?”

Cas had covered the mouthpiece and snapped, “No, but you are, and you’re under my roof, so stop eavesdropping and finish your dinner.”

Claire had honest-to-goodness _laughed._ “Did you just ‘ _no, you are_ ’ me? Oh, my _god_.”

Cas was still irritated by the conversation the next day, but he was even more irritated that he found himself headed to Dean’s shop with Claire in tow. He had found another reason to buy flowers, but the reason was highly unpleasant, and much of it had to do with the teenager in his passenger seat. As he turned into the parking lot, he negotiated with Claire. “You can have the car after I’m done here if you promise to be back by 10pm.” 

He could practically _feel_ Claire rolling her eyes, but she didn’t push her luck by talking.

“Please keep in mind that the reason we’re even here at the flower shop is because of you. You’re lucky I’m even letting you touch this car after yesterday.”

Claire must have really wanted the car because she didn’t scoff like she normally would have. It was too much to ask that she maintain her silence, however. “I don’t know why you even bother with flowers,” she said. Claire didn’t even look at him when she spoke, just kept tapping away on her phone. “The Robertsons won’t hate me any less.”

Cas knew that it was true, that the Robertsons had been inclined to dislike Claire ever since they saw her bright blue hair and leather jacket from across the fence when she had arrived for her annual summer visit three years ago. He supposed they didn’t deserve any apologies for being judgmental assholes, but they did deserve one because of the beautiful peonies in their front garden that Claire had “accidentally” driven over yesterday before her commute to school. The fence had mostly survived the encounter, but of course the Robertsons were insisting it be replaced as well.

Cas bit down on a sigh and said, “Stay in the car while I’m inside.” His usual parking spot was empty. He drove forward.

“You could just tell him you’ve got the hots for him, you know, instead of making up excuses to buy flowers,” Claire said. 

Cas gritted his teeth. He didn’t bother denying that at this point he was actively looking for reasons to visit Dean, especially because no one could deny the fact that flowers were doing nothing to curb the Robertsons’ dislike toward Claire. “I’m not taking advice from someone whose only social interaction is with her phone. You could bear to talk to someone in person, you know.” 

Cas expected Claire to say something sarcastic, but when Cas put the car in park, she merely lowered her phone - very slowly. “You know what?” she said. “That’s a great idea, Uncle Cas.” She was out of the car before Cas could even pull the key from the ignition. 

Cas watched in mute horror as his niece jogged to the entrance of Mary's Garden and pushed open the door. It was a second before her actions registered. Then reality hit and he was cursing and fumbling with the key, then his seat belt, then the door. Finally he was stepping out and then chasing after her, bursting into the shop in wide-eyed panic. His eyes swept the shop, stopping only when he found Dean to the left side of the door, holding his keys like he had just been about to close up. Claire was standing in front of Dean, a smirk on her face that she directed at Cas upon his entrance.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, “Whatever she said, it’s not true, she’s just a teenager, please don’t call the police.”

Dean stared. “What?”

Claire cocked her hip and looked Dean up and down. Then she turned to Cas, plucked the car keys from his hands, and said, more loudly than was necessary, “I guess you could do worse.” She pushed past him to the door. “I’ll be back at 10. Maybe. Bye.” The last word was cheerful and thrown over her shoulder as she exited the shop.

Cas turned his wide eyes to Dean. Dean stared back, looking just as dumbfounded. He was dressed to go out in a T-shirt and flannel, and the lack of an apron over his torso made Cas inexplicably nervous.

“I am so sorry,” Cas said. It was all he could say.

Dean licked his lips, then opened his mouth, though it was a few moments before he said anything. “Did she just say that you could do worse?”

Cas closed his eyes in mortification. “Dean, I apologize. Gabe took Claire in as an older child and she’s had trouble adjusting. We’re working with her.”

Dean shook his head, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on Cas’s. “Why would she say you could do worse?” He stepped closer. Cas heard the keys in Dean’s hand clink together in a tightly-clenched fist. “Unless she knows something that I don’t.”

Cas’s stomach flipped with the realization Claire had just given his feelings away. Cas opened his mouth, intent on explaining, but found he had no idea where to start. I’m sorry? I’ve missed you? I never got over you? I love you? He settled for “I should have been there for you when Mary died.”

Dean looked taken aback; it was apparent that that was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “That - I mean, yeah, I would have liked to have seen you afterward, but it wasn’t your duty to take care of me.”

Cas felt a fine tremble start in his fingers. He pulled them into his palms. “I wanted to. You should have had me to lean on.”

Dean’s expression was pained. He scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face then said, “You don’t have to feel guilty about that shit, Cas. We broke up.”

“That doesn’t mean I stopped caring for you,” Cas said plainly. 

Dean took a deep breath and looked around at the shop, at anywhere but Cas. His eyes were misty. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Sounds familiar.”

Cas sighed. In the silence that followed, casting around for something to say, he took in the shop. It was clean and neat and obviously well-loved. Bits of Dean littered the happy interior - a picture of him and Sam and Mary leaning on the Impala hung on a far wall, along with smaller pictures of young Dean and Sam amidst Mary’s blooming garden. A vintage motorcycle was parked near the entrance. Around it plastic leaves spilled over in wooden buckets, forever picture perfect. Cas felt his eyes sting, just a little. “I really am happy you were able to open up the shop,” he said quietly, afraid to shatter whatever connection they’d established. 

Dean nodded, looking at the floor. Then, between one rise and fall of his chest and the next, he looked up from underneath his lashes and said, voice wavering, “I kinda always thought you’d be right next to me behind that counter, y’know.”

The image came unbidden - waking up warm and content next to each other, pulling the other one out of bed so they could get ready to open up the flower shop ( _their_ flower shop), bumping hips behind the shop counter, hiding flowers from their shop in increasingly ridiculous places of the house they’d bought together, laughing when one of them opened their kitchen drawer to find a week-old tulip, kissing their gratitude into each other’s skin every night. The image came easily to Cas because it was right where he’d left it the last time: on the front doorstep of his daydreams, impossible to ignore. 

Cas swallowed past the emotion welling up in his throat. “Me too,” he said softly.

Dean’s lips twitched. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Cas confirmed.

“Still?”

“Still.”

That drew a bashful grin to Dean’s lips. He stepped forward tentatively. “I’m gonna have to convince your niece I’m good for you, aren’t I?”

Cas laughed. “Trust me, what she said was as good as her approval.” 

Dean put a hand to Cas’s cheek. He was smiling, and the lines that crinkled around his eyes framed the freckles that Cas had wanted so badly to touch when he’d first walked into Mary's Garden. He did so now, touching his fingers to the ones under Dean’s right eye.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled good-naturedly. “I’m gettin’ old. Don’t gotta rub it in.”

Cas shook his head hurriedly. “You’re perfect.”

And it was true. They were both on the wrong side of 30, and Dean’s old knee injury probably hadn’t gotten any better with age, but Dean was, as he had always been, Cas’s dream come true. Cas found himself just as swept up in his feelings as he had been in his early 20s, hands trembling with the electricity between them, itching to curl his hands around Dean’s arms and drag them down until he was holding Dean’s hands. 

The only thing that had changed about them was that now Cas’s feelings were tempered with the knowledge that love required patience and faith, not the arrogant recklessness of youth that had allowed Cas the confidence to walk away from Dean all those years ago, when Dean had quietly broached the topic of his departure for grad school. 

“Perfect? Me? Nah,” Dean said. He brushed a hand through Cas’s hair. “I’m really not.” He met Cas’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. “But if you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna start to believe it.”

Cas knocked their noses together, smiling so hard his cheeks began to hurt. “I can’t believe I ever left you,” Cas murmured, mesmerized by the deep green of Dean’s eyes, so close, so affectionate.

Dean was impatient; their second-first kiss was latched onto Cas’s last word and lasted until Cas effectively forgot what his last word even was.

“I can believe it,” Dean breathed, when they’d broken apart and Dean had pulled Cas even closer by the belt loops. “I was young and cocky and coped with everything in some really fuckin’ dumbass ways. Never deserved you.” His arms snaked around Cas’s lower back. “I’m gonna try my damnedest this time around if you let me.”

Cas kissed him hard. “Next time you decide to leave I’m coming with you.”

“Agreed,” Dean breathed, kissing Cas’s bottom lip, his chin, the corner of his mouth.

“No, really,” Cas said, leaning back so he could catch Dean’s eye. “Claire took the car and I need a ride home.”

Dean dropped his head on Cas’s shoulder with the softest laugh Cas had ever heard from him. Cas could still hear the grin in Dean’s voice when he said, “Whatever you want, Cas.”

They stood there comfortably, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, for a few long moments. There were so many things Cas still needed to say, but he could see the road in front of him now - long and happy, full of twists and turns, but more importantly, just wide enough for both of them. He knew there’d be time later to whisper his devotion into Dean’s bare skin, to say hi to Mary at her grave, to see Sam and pull him in for a hug and maybe introduce him to Eileen one day. Those would keep for later, and they’d be right where he left them. 

But Cas was conscious of the fact that Dean was the one thing that hadn’t stayed where Cas had left him. And that was okay. In the middle of Dean’s flower shop, Cas closed his eyes and tightened his hold. If there ever came a time that Dean decided to leave, Cas was going with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a meet-cute... and also much shorter. Oops. ALSO DON'T QUESTION MY TIMELINE BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE THE ANSWERS OK.


End file.
